One More Miracle
by learninghowtobreathe
Summary: After Mary's death John with his son moves back to 221b. But something has changed. Will he understand what he really feels for his infuriating, brilliant flatmate? Especially with one of the most mysterious cases still waiting to be solved?
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **

**This is my first fic in this fandom and my first fic ever, so please be gentle?**

**Also, English is not my native language so sorry for all errors.**

**CHAPTER 1.**

Hamish William Watson was born three minutes after midnight on a snowy December night.

He got 10 points on the Apgar scale and was generally a healthy, tiny pink bundle of joy like any newborn is.

But there was no joy in anyone who welcomed him on this world.

Because the night little Hamish saw the world for the first time was also the day his mother saw it for the last time.

Mary Watson died in childbirth.

In John's memories everything was like floating in dense fog. He felt empty, like someone has taken away his heart and his soul.

He remembered sitting on the plastic, uncomfortable chair in st. Bart's waiting room, and waiting for what felt like ages.

Only to discover at the end that his newly married, beloved wife was dead.

He felt betrayed. First, his best friend commits suicide only to come back to life two years ago. A miracle, one more miracle.

But there will be no more miracles, not now, not ever, he thinks. It was over. Everything was over. Mary was dead and no one on earth or above was in power to bring her back.

John remembered looking at his tiny, newborn son and not seeing a new life, but death, death everywhere, all over the place.

He barely remembers coming home with his baby three days later. He doesn't remember at all calling Sherlock and telling him what happened. But surely he did?

He sits in his chair, watches little Hamish sleeping and he wishes bullet that crashed his arm took his life.

John gives up his job at st. Barts, cause he can't look at the place where two people he loved the most on the whole world were taken away from him.

He spends time at home, he takes care of Hamish, sleepless nights and identical days all blurred into some kind of haze.

He hardly notices Sherlock risks his life more and more every day.

He doesn't notice at all when his friend relapses and goes back to cocaine.

He wakes up every day wishing he didn't.

Years pass quickly when you have a child to take care of. But all the same years feels like ages when you mourn after someone.

John finds himself torn between these two feelings, like on rollercoaster where pace and speed changes constantly.

But, as the saying tells, every new day brings new hope. Every day it's a little bit easier. Slowly, slowly good doctor emerges from his cave where he have hidden after Mary's death. He watches little Hamish grow and realizes he loves being a father to this tiny creature with his whole heart.

His son is so much like Mary in some ways, John's heart aches when he looks at him. Fair-haired, but his hair is mop of curls, inherited probably after Mary's parents, since no one in John's family has curly hair, with deep blue eyes, just like his father, and brilliant smile, Hamish makes every John's day worth waking up.

He feels alive again. Broken, yes, still not whole, but alive.

He doesn't even notice that his mourning left him with new silver strands in his hair.

He begins to see Sherlock more often. Sherlock, who is clean again, who managed to get rid of his addiction one more time, and knowing that he was no help with that makes John guilty when he thinks about it. So he tries not to think. He discovered through last two years that not thinking is sometimes the best way to cope with things.

To everyone's surprise, Sherlock falls in love with Hamish instantly, and with reciprocity. John finds himself visiting 221b more and more often. So it comes with no surprise at all when one day he decides to stay overnight and couple of days later moves back to his old room upstairs, only changed by Hamish's cradle taking the honourable place.

Cases come and go, Sherlock is still Sherlock, not eating, conducting weird experiments on the kitchen table, shooting walls and playing the violin in the middle of the night, and John finally stops feeling misplaced. It's almost like his old life brought back. Almost.

The dull ache in his heart still remains, but it's not even half that painful as it used to be.

He takes back his old job at surgery. Mrs. Hudson takes care of Hamish and he loves her almost as much as she adores him, being his unofficial but beloved grandmother.

At first John tries to stay away from cases and dangerous part of his old life. But he's not a man made for peacefull, middle-class life and he knows that, he loves danger and needs it as much as he needs air to breathe. Soon enough he follows Sherlock to crime scenes like nothing has ever changed, praising him and chasing criminals all over London's streets.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2.**

It's dark and it's cold and the hour belongs to the night and John finds himself wishing he was in his warm, comfortable bed instead of where he is now, which is in the dark and cold alley God-knows-where. There is a dead body, man in his late twenties, covered in beautiful, colorful tattoos, being the third one found in the last couple of weeks, all of them died the same death, shot straight to the heart, instant death, and then dumped in the alley, covered in shallow cuts ruining the exsquisite designs covering their bodies.

Sherlock is being his usual brilliant self, spilling deduction with the speed of the light, crouching over the body with his magnyfing glass, seeing what no one else can see. And though it's really freezing, the night being one of the coldest in ending slowly November, and he is soaked wet, John can't stop himself from being mesmerized with his flatmate's brilliance, just like he always is.

Anyway, he is also concerned that he probably will again fall asleep tomorrow at surgery _and _that he – well, they, since it was Sherlock paying great role in all dragging out buisness - dragged out Mrs. Hudson out of bed so she sat with Hamish and took care of him _again _that week.

So when Sherlock says they need to find the studio where the tattoos were made – apparently that's what victims had in common – John is not that happy as his friend would want him to be. But, of course, he follows, like he always does.

And, in the end, it turns out it wasn't that bad idea, cause studio's owner really _is _georgeous, all tall, skinny, but not too much, and with amazing thick, curly dark hair falling on her slender arms. And though Sherlock is shamming her, being as wonderful as only he could be, all-brillinat-smiles-and-shiny-eyes, when she looks at John she smiles the most cute smile he has ever seen – and when eventually they leave, John has her phone number safely saved in his mobile, and he's going on date at Friday evening.

He wonders briefly if it's not too early for him to start dating again, remorse and guilt a light flicker, but then he remembers Mary's face and realizes she would want him to move on. After all, isn't it what she helped him to do after Sherlock's "death"?

So when they arrive at Baker Street on the beginning of the new day, and he has three hours till his shift starts and crying two year old to take care of, he is content, feeling like his life finally goes as it should.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3.**

Friday finds them still wraped up in the case, Sherlock lost in his Mind Palace hours ago and John getting ready for his date and not giving a damn about any case at all, at least not for tonight. He kisses Hamish, pats Mrs. Hudson's arm and thanks her again for taking care of his son (though of who, Hamish or Sherlock, she will _really _take care, he's not sure) and leaves.

It's cold and rainy but Julie is dressed in marvellous deep blue dress which really brings the colour of her grey, storm-like eyes, and the hue reminds John of Sherlock's robe but he leaves the thought and focuses on her instead. She wears heels, in which she's just a tiny bit higher than our good doctor, but he decides not to bother about it at all. She is really lovely, laughs almost all the time and her perfect, heart-shaped lips are always smiling at him. They go for a dinner and then John walks her home and kisses her goodbye and they arranges another date for Monday, which is a bit soon but John finds himself all eager and he can't wait to see her again.

He comes home around eleven pm and Hamish is asleep, so is Mrs. Hudson, and Sherlock still lies where John left him, and doctor is fairly sure that he hasn't moved at all.

When next day John wakes up, Sherlock is again walking over the flat in just his sheet and when John makes himself tea anf breakfast he sits on the floor with Hamish, showing him one of his childhood books he somehow managed to find, John has no idea, how. He marvells for a moment about weird – but also really cute, it has to be said – kind of friendship his insane, self-diagnosed sociopath of a flatmate has with his two years old son, but at the end he just smiles, and sips his tea, watching them, and he is content.

He even manages to convince himself that when Sherlock's robe slips down and leaves white expanse of his torso for everyone to see, he does not care at all. And he for sure is _not _staring at his friend for couple of minutes too long, and he is _ceirtanly not _blushing, and he has _not in any case_ trouble breathing. He's not gay after all, is he?

When couple of hours later Sherlock declares that he needs a break and leaves to harass Molly at morgue, John finds himself somehow relieved. He spends day playing with Hamish and listening to his little son's sweet babbling – he developed a quite adorable lisp, and he's so alike his father, with perfect smile on his tiny pink lips, and somehow the perfect mix of him and Mary in this tiny little person makes John's heart ache.

When Sherlock comes home, carrying a bag of fingers, each one from different owner, Hamish is fast asleep and John sits comfortably on the couch, watching _Doctor Who_.

Sherlock sits beside him quietly, but silence doesn't last long, and after few minutes consulting detective is ruining John's show – or making it much better, depends of the point of view – telling everybody who wants to listen, who of course is only John, since they're alone in the room, that show is ridicoulous and full of errors. John thinks about all these times when he watched telly alone, after Sherlock's fall, and he realizes, how much he missed it.

Time passes and they fall asleep where they sit, and when John wakes up in the middle of the night due to ache in his back, he has no heart to wake Sherlock up, detective sleeping during a case being such a rare sight.


	4. Chapter 4

Huge thanks for this chapter goes to my wonderful Mum and my brilliant sister, who both gave me so much support and fantastic ideas! :)

Also, sorry, I seem to have some editing issues there, I'm still new to editing on this site...

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER 4<strong>

Second time John goes out with Julie it's different. She's colder somehow, her smile not that bright, eyes not that shiny and she checkes the time few times too often. John realizes he slowly runs out of conversation topics, all about his work already told and Julie clearly not interested in listening about Hamish. He tells her about most interesting cases, but she showes no interest either, and she tells him she needs to be home early, in which he doesn't believe even for a second. He says he will call and she tells him not to. She's even irritated enough to mention John's visible affection when talking about Sherlock and suggests him to date his flatmate instead.

John comes home early, irritated and cold after long walk and all he dreams about is quiet evening behind the telly and cup of warm tea.

When passing through corridor, he hears Mrs. Hudson's footsteps in her flat, so, sure that he will find her with his son there, he comes in. To his surprise, John finds her alone.

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson, where's Hamish?"

She smiles at him, her sweet smile, and he thinks for a moment about how wonderful she is and that he should thank her more often for what help she is for him all the time.

"I just came here for a second, darling, to make him something to drink." She says. "Sherlock is with him upstairs. He is a dear and plays the violin for us."

"Let's come to them, then." Smiles John.

They come upstairs, but something's wrong. It's quiet, no sound to be heard. The flat is empty.

John feels like his hearts stops beating for a split second. He's feeling cold instantly, terified. All he can think of are thousand of possibilites what could've happen to his son, all caused by dangerous lifestyle he leads, high possibility of Hamish being attacked as his father's pressure point. Not even thinking about what is he doing he checks his mobile, but there's no sign of any message and no missed calls. As Mrs. Hudson bursts into tears he curses silently, and calls Sherlock, but his phone seems to be dead. Then he dials Lestrade's number, his voice trembling, when describing to DI what happened, or rather what he supposes happened.

Minutes passes counted on clock ticking too loud, Mrs. Hudson sobbes silently, apologising to John over and over again, but of course he isn't mad at her, he's scared to death, not only about Hamish, but also Sherlock, after all he's missing too, and the hell knows what really happened.

Lestrade comes and goes, police searching missing ones.

After what feels like a year and is in reality thirty minutes, doors downstairs opens and then shuts and then there's familiar baritone and John's poor heart starts beating again when he sees his son in his flatmate's arms, whos talking to him and smiling and acting like nothing happened and John is not sure if he should be relieved or angry, so he just stays there and stared in disbelief.

Apparently Sherlock thought that it'd be a great idea to take little Hamish for a walk, not telling anyone anyhing and meanwhile his phone's battery died and _really, what's a big deal, they were out for only what was half of an hour and it's not like he has never took care of Hamish before. _

And even though all John wants to do is punch his infuriating friend to the face just like after his "ressurection", all he does is hug his son and make everybody a tea – and call to say sorry to Lestrade for all this mess.

And he is silently content, cause it looks like every day Sherlock is even closer to his son, who seems to completely adore brilliant detective, and why John is not sure, but is he with his friendship and praises any different?

So he calls Sherlock an idiot, but can't hide affection in his tone, and he forget's that his date was a disaster – Sherlock having at least a little bit of empathy this time and not pointing it out – and sits with Hamish on his lap listening to new piece Sherlock composed and he can't believe he was lucky enough for this strange yet perfect family to belong to him.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5. **

Next days pass quickly, bringing nothing new to the case, and John spends his time trying to convince Sherlock to quit smoking once again. Even though he leaves, smokes outside now, and John is glad he at least does this, he makes it his aim to make his friend drop the habit he got himself into, just like these years before – it seems for them it's a constant battle.

His job at surgery is perfectly boring as it always was, and when Sherlock sends him text saying they meet at New Scotland Yard after John finishes his shift, he is happy something finally happens, though he would never admit that, being sure he is absolutely fine with calm, paceful days and not in any way seeking danger.

It turns out Sherlock only wants to see the footage from crime scenes again, and while he's busy doing exactly that, John chats with Lestrade's new assistant, who, he has to admit, is rather stunning. Janice, cause that's her name, is that high, sleek creature that catches everybody's sight when coming into room. Her hair is dark and impressively long, and with that face she could easily find a job as a model, if she decided to switch proffesions one day. She is also very nice and seems to be interested in him, so decides to give it a go and asks her out. She agrees and when John cathces the glimpse of Sherlock's unamused expression, he doesn't give a damn, too happy and excited.

Sherlock doesn't find anything new on the records and decides to go once again to Julie's tattoo studio, which, he is sure, is the common thing to all three murders, and talk to the staff again. John decides he's not up to seeing Julie again after that unfortunate date and leaves home, where he spends time with Hamish.

His son is however visibly not in the mood today, not wanting to read or draw, and asking John in his own, lisping way, _where's Sherlock_ all the time and when will he hear him playing. Hours passes and John realizes he's not in any way comfortable either. It's been six hours since he came home, Sherlock is still not back, and surely he should be? The more John thinks about it the more concerned he is, and the more he feels he shouldn't be. Sherlock is a grown man after all, and he can take care of himself, John reassures himself, still being conscient it's not quite true. He could got into trouble and not having a chance to call John, or call for help or was just _too bloody reckless and self-confident _to even think about needing help.

Worrying more and more John finally manages to put wailing Hamish to bed and he sits in his chair with cup of tea. He thinks about genius sociopath he lives with. About how he changed his life, made it so much better, so much more complete, like he himself completes him. He decides to swallow his pride and sends text.

"_Where are you?"_

And after couple of minutes, when there's no reply:

"_Hamish misses you."_

This time reply comes almost immediatelly.

"_You mean you miss me. SH."_

"_No, I mean exactly what I wrote."_

"_Will be home in a minute. SH."_

Relieved, and a little bit embarassed, John makes himself another tea, and swithes on telly. He can't concentrate on what's on though, his mind focused on his flatmate once again, remembering, going through memories, and before John even notices he is lost in thinking about Sherlock's brilliant smile, his everchanging eyes, marble skin, hair through which he wants to run his fingers...

He comes back to reality instantly. Surely he wasn't thinking that? He is just tired, he thinks, blush creeping on his cheeks. He's tired, it was hard on surgery today, lots of patients, and he just needs sleep, then it will all go out of his system.

When Sherlock finally comes home, John can't look him in the eyes, and he disappears in his bedroom mumbling haste "goodnight".

What he doesn't see is ceirtan longing hidden deep in detective's storm-like eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6. **

**Hopelessly non brit-picked, sorry :/ **

**Also, this chapter is for my wonderful friend Jinx, who encouraged me to give it a go and start writing this fic :)**

John's date with Janice from NSY is a disaster as well. And she seemed so nice. In reality, Lestrade's new assistant is rather short-tempered, and her cutting responses reminds John of Sally Donovan. He tries to be polite, but when it comes to the topic of cases – and Sherlock – and she tells few words too much, John suddenly finds himself in the middle of an argument, where he fiercely stands for his friend. He says "goodbye" coldly and leaves the coffee shop they met in, and heades home, thinking that maybe he should give up dating at all.

In a sour mood he decides to go to pub for a pint, and to his surprise meets Lestrade there, sitting in the corner and seemingly lost deep in thoughts.

Rather glad and hoping for a distraction from his failure he sits up to DI.

"Hi, mate, what are you doing here?" Detective Inspector asks curiously. "Shouldn't you be with Janice now?"

"Didn't work out." John winces. "You could've warn me she is so..." He wonders for a minute how to describe Janice's character without being unnecessarily impolite, living with Sherlock taught him to avoid hurting people with words. "Sally-alike" He ends awkwardly.

Lestrade bursts into laughter.

"Yes, she is." He admits. "Two of them probably should become best friends soon. But she is rather stunning, isn't she?"

John nods, feeling better, and sips his beer, before asking:

"And how's your love life, then? Finally decided to ask Molly out?"

To his surprise DI blushes and avoids looking in his eyes.

"Er... Not...exactly." He stammers. "But I'm seeing someone."

"Cangratulations then, who is it?" John asks, genuinely curious. Being a good guy as he is, he really wants to see his friend happy after what he's been through, divorce and all.

DI sighs.

"Promise not to tell Sherlock?"

"Why...Yeah, sure." John frowns. "It's not like it would interest him anyway."

"I beg to differ." Lestrade seems resigned.

"Who is it then?" Good doctor is confused.  
>"I'm seeing Mycroft." Detective admits after the moment of silence. "It all started few weeks ago... And now it's rather serious."<p>

John sits there for couple of minutes, mouth agape, not knowing what to say, completely

"Er...Congrats then." He finally says, and smiles, cause it's not like he minds, of course, and if his friend is happy then he's happy too.

Then he imagines Sherlock's face when he found out and suddenly John bursts into laughter. After few seconds Lestrade joins him and they sit there, two grown men, giggling like a schoolboys. And it's fine, it's all fine.

When John comes home later this night, he finds Sherlock and Hamish sitting on the main room's floor, covered in paint, and very concentrated at stamping their hands to huge sheets of paper lying beside them. It's such a surreal sight John can't help but bursts into laughter again, and joins them after couple of minutes. And he forgets about Janice, and about this distaster of a date.

And he is happy, so much happy that if two years ago someone told him he would be that happy, he would never, ever believe it.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7.**

Though John's best intentions, Lestrade's secret didin't remain secret for a long time. Sherlock is a genius detective after all, and the very second he sees his brother (who comes to visit and ask Sherlock for help with government-involved case once again) he knows everything. His facial expression is just the same as John imagined it, and he laughs about it for next couple of days, for Sherlock's visible displeasure.

It's early morning when Lestrade calls them saying that another body was found, and John doesn't cancell his shift at surgery, hoping it won't take long, and goes with Sherlock to the crime scene, which is deceased women's flat in the London's outskirts. This time the victim is older, she's 42, but the pattern remains the same, shot to heart and cuts all over tattooed body.

Sherlock deducts that she was a client to Julie's studio as well, and that she was single mother of 12-years-old, running her own art gallery, and also a painter. John says "amazing" like he always do and Sherlock looks like a cat who just get a plate of cream. They still have no idea who the killer is though.

Sherlock makes vicious comments about Lestrade and Mycroft's relationship, resulting in DI threating him to make another drug boost, and then they leave, Sherlock all wraped up in the case and John hoping he will make it to the surgery for at least part of his shift, cause they need money for a rent as they always do.

He takes a cab to St. Barts and fortunatelly arrives at time, his mind still occupied with the case though. He feels sory for all the victims, but the last one being single mother and leaving young girl as an orphan makes him angry and sad at once. He wants with all his heart that Sherlock will solve the case and that heartless murderer will spend rest ofhis life in prison, but at the same time knows it won't bring deceased woman back to life. He checks on patients, but is lost in his thoughts, and can't wait to come home and see his son. So when new cute nurse who just started her job at his surgery asks him if he would like to go for a coffee with her, it catches him off guard. He agrees, she is really pretty after all, and though all his last dates ended up as disasters, he still hopes to meet right woman one day. Hamish needs a female role-model in his life, he thinks. And John himself needs company as well.

They leave St. Barts together, nurse, Kate being her name, tells him that she knows nice cafe nearby, and though his best efforts John realizes he can't concentrate on what she is saying. Kate is what is said to be classical beauty, with long, slightly curly black hair, fair skin and blue eyes, she is also a few inches taller than John, and he briefly wonders what is it that makes him choose taller women all the time, but it doesn't change a thing, no matter how he would like to shag her, he is just bored with her. She chats all the time, not noticing his lack of interest, and John is lost in his mind once again.

He thinks about how brilliant Sherlock was this morning, wraped in his coat, with pale expanse of his neck for everyone to see since he forgot his scarf, and with his eyes sparkling, today more green than blue. He thinks even more how intelligent he is, how he never ceases to surprise him, how interesting is talking to him, how he understands him without words after all these years of friendship – in short, how he is everything Kate is not.

He didn't notice when Kate goes silent. He realizes something's wrong only when she angrily throws money on the table and leaves. And he really doesn't care, he realizes. She was boring anyway.

John decides to go home and take Hamish for a walk. He needs to think, he realizes, all events of the day leaving him wounded up and anxious. He can't stop thinking about Sherlock though, and he doesn't know why, the picture of his infuriating flatmate still behind his eyes.

He comes home, and finds Mrs. Hudson playing with his son, so he thanks her for taking care of him and puts Hamish in his stroller. He tries to convince himself he's not avoiding Sherlock, who apparently disappeared in his bedroom, but he fails, and has to admit, that he hurries so he doesn't meet his friend.

What's happening to him, John has no idea, and he tries not to think about it, but he can't. He vaguealy remembers meeting Mary for the first time and falling in love with her and realizes he felt the same then as he feels now. This thought scares him. Surely he's not _in love with Sherlock. _He's not gay after all. He had men "crushes" back in uni, and then after he joined army, but it was never anything _serious. _And he and Sherlock has this unique kind of friendship...

John walks slowly through the alleys of nearby park, pushing Hamish's strolley, and thinks. Thinks about how he loves the sound of Sherlock voice, and how this voice gives him goosebumps, especially when so deep and when the owner of the voice is near and...

Soon John realizes his pants became uncomfortalbly tight and he closes his eyes, panic overcoming him.

_Surely he's not having an erection thinking about Sherlock Holmes?_

Nevermind what he feels, he realizes, the point is that even if he _is _in love with his flatmate – which is absurd and he of course very much _isn't_ – said flatmate seems to be asexual, and, if even not, then totally not interested in certain army doctor.

John sits on the bench, Hamish deeply asleep at this point, and tries to be rational. So okay, maybe he is slightly _interested _- "infatuated", rather, he thinks bitterly – in Sherlock, but obviously he can't act on it, he would surely be rejected. Better if everything stays the way it was, their friendship so precious John wouldn't stand losing it.

A little bit more comfortable now, when it's settled, but still not sure how he will stand seeing Sherlock after what he just discovered, John decides to go home. It's cold, December in whole glory, and it starts snowing, Christmas around the corner.

John comes home, puts Hamish to his bed, little boy asleep whole time, and goes to sleep early.

He's not sure Sherlock even realizes he's at home, lost deep in his experiment (something involving eyeballs once again, John doesn't want to know details), and John is at the same time relieved and disappointed, and not sure what these feelings tells about him.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8.**

Sherlock doesn't sleep during cases. So he doesn't fall asleep this night. He lies on the couch, with his hands laced on his chest, lost deep in his Mind Palace.

This case is peculiar. It's something wrong about it, and he can't quite get hold of it, not yet. Murderer is clever this time, but obviously, no one's as clever as Sherlock Holmes. He will solve it, of course he will.

He finds himself oddly distracted though.

Obviously the common point to all murders is Julie Cook's tattoo studio, "_The Ninth Circle". _Ridiculous name, he thinks. But again, he never was the one to have tattoos, too recognisable, too hard to hide, entirely useless. The ones on second victim's body were nice, though. Exquisite, even. Pleasurable to look at, though he would never decide to willingly put them on his body.

_Did John liked them?, _he wonders, and then stops the train of his thoughts abruptly. Why was he even thinking that?

Everything started after John went for a date with Mrs. Cook, Sherlock realizes. It was ridiculous, really, one would think he will stop dating at this point, he has rather enjoyable life after all, with Sherlock and his cases and his remarkably smart child. He really should stop and focus on what was important now. But no, he insists on this moronic habit of dating dull and uninteresting women.

And why Sherlock even bothers? It's not like he's _jealous_, the very thought completely preposterous.

And there is something wrong with Mrs. Cook, Sherlock is so glad John decided not to continue on this acquaintance. She wasn't the woman for him.

Sherlock realizes he cares about John, of course he does, he also realizes he might be _a tiny bit _in love with his flatmate, he had all too much time to think about his _feelings _after all, through all these years. And it hurt when John choose Mary, of course it did. But they were friends after all, indeed Sherlock was John's _best_ friend, and he has enough common sense – and, no matter what might other people think, enough empathy – to know he should support John in his decision about marriage. John loved Mary, and Mary loved John, and that was what good friend would do, wasn't it?

And, as John constantly emphasises, _he's not gay._

So, who cares what Sherlock is or isn't, what he feels or doesn't feel. He decided to focus on cases, and not to pay attention to his broken heart.

Until now, until, as it seemed, this very moment.

Sherlock found himself unable to concentrate on the case and thinking about John _constantly._

And he tried to overcome it, he really tried. But he failed.

And then John started dating again and it all became too much and to his dismay Sherlock realized he _doesn't even care _if he solves the case, all wrapped up in his heart affairs.

And he despises himself for it.

It is 2pm, middle of the night, when Sherlock's phone rings, the tune set especially for Lestrade.

There was another body found, 5th one, near Thames, this time of a teenage boy. The pattern yet again the same.

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson is gonna kill us." Grunts John, running hands through his hair, after Sherlock woke him up. Detective finds himself mesmerized about these hands movements. He tries not to stare, so fixes his eyes on the floor instead. "It's 2nd time this week when we wake her at an unholy hour. We really should do something to thank her properly."

"I can ask Mycroft to set a nice trip for her." Sherlock murmurs, eyes still fixed on the rug. "But obviously then we had to take a break from cases, since there will be no one to take care of Hamish. And I'm not sure if my dear brother won't be too much engaged in his new _relationship_ to have time to help us with it." He can't help himself and last sentence is said a little bit sourly.

"Aww, don't be like that." John smiles fondly. "Relationships are not always like that. Not that time-consuming as you think."

"I highly doubt it." Sherlock frowns. "Now, hurry up, we have a case to solve!"

When they arrive at the crime scene, they find DI Lestrade and Sally Donovan leaning over police car and sipping coffee. The forensic team ended their job over the body, and Sherlock and John go to examine it.

Fair-haired boy can't be older than 18. He is tall, and very thin, skinny almost, his tattoos all black-and-white, now ruined with angry red cuts.

Sherlock knows instantly that young boy was in fact cocaine addict, raised by wealthy parents determined to hide his addiction from the world and buying him drugs only to make sure he will take them in safety of their own house. Obviously they also paid for his tattoos.

Sherlock has a brief flashback of his own youth, his years on the streets, but no more than second and it's gone, thrill of the case taking place of bitter memories.

He examines the body, looking for yet another clues, but there's nothing more there – except that these tattoos were made in Julie's studio, by the same artist once again. There's definitely something what Sherlock can't see right now and it irritates him, thought like a sight caught in the corner of an eye, impossible to grasp.

And to add to it all, John, his plain yet so extraordinary John seems to take all over his mind, and his presence so near is all brilliant detective can think about.

"Still no idea who can it be?" Lestrade asks, his voice tired.

"Young woman, probably in her thirties, all victims were blackmailed by her and..." His thoughts trail away for a moment and he stares at the halo over John's blonde head, caused by dawning sun. Sherlock tries to focus, but is unable to. Damn. He tries again. "And...later killed by her, presumably so they didn't tell anyone about the blackmail."

"But you don't know _who _this woman is, do you?" Points out Sally.

Sherlock furrows his brow. "No." He admits reluctantly.

"Not much help you are this time, freak." Sally laughs sourly.

And then there's John, who appears by his side, takes his arm and tells "Come on, Sherlock, let's go home." and there they go, not giving sergeant second look, John visibly pissed off and Sherlock once again surprised by good doctor's protectiveness.

They go home in silence, which is almost comfortable, yet a bit too strained; Sherlock wrapped up in this thoughts. He should be able to solve this preposterous case earlier, he thinks. It all looks so easy, yet he can't find the answer. It makes him almost nauseous, knowing that matters of his heart made it to overcome his mind. His mind waswho he was, and if he couldn't rely on it, then where it left him?

For a moment he feels like a child again, lost in the world all too big for him to understand. That happens always when he's left alone with his emotions, which he couldn't understand or control. He is so used to ignoring them, that now, when he can't, it scares him to death.

"She isn't right, you know." Says John suddenly. "It's not like your enormous ego needs extra boost, but you really _are _a great help for them."

Sherlock smiles, his crooked smile, but inside all he thinks is _don't let him know._

"Don't worry, John, I am perfectly aware that they would not manage without my brilliance there." He says, his voice rich, deep baritone, and John's pupils dilate a bit and his heart starts beating faster, but those things Sherlock doesn't see. He looks straight ahead, not meeting doctor's eyes.

They walk Baker Street silently, both lost deep in thoughts.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9.**

John goes for yet another date.

Sherlock lies on the couch curled into a ball with wild mop of curls sticking out at the end, and thinks hatefully how absolutely preposterous, ridiculous, how moronic, how simply _stupid _this is. It's dark outside, night slowly becoming morning, this grey hour when everything seems magical and beautiful, but Sherlock sees nothing of this beauty. He would very much like to shot walls a little bit, or at least settle at playing his violin, but Hamish is asleep and he doesn't want to wake him up. People may think that he is some kind of monster without emotions, and therefore that he hates children, but the truth is, that he actually quite likes them, at least the smart ones. And Hamish is very smart one indeed, Sherlock finds himself fascinated by this little human, and – maybe because he treats him like he treats everyone, just like he would treat an adult – Hamish adores him too. He always smiles at him with his adorable smile, and listens with eyes wide open when detective talks to him in his rich, velvety voice, and falls asleep instantly lulled by sweet notes of violin. So Sherlock doesn't want to disturb baby's peaceful sleep, hence now he lies in silence and _thinks_. He would never ever suppose that one day he will think with such distaste about the very act of _thinking_, but there he is now. The problem is, he can't stop. He can't stop thinking about John's oncoming date, jealousy taking control over him. And John hasn't even left yet, all he's done was telling Sherlock that he has plans for tomorrow's evening and asking if he could take care of Hamish then, cause Mrs. Hudson was visiting her friend for two days and was not there.

Sherlock, of course, kept his façade firmly on place and faked impatience perfectly.

"Don't be obtuse, John." She snapped. "Of course I will take care of him."

"Promise not to do anything stupid?" John eyed him suspiciously. "No weird experiments? No shooting? And you won't leave him somewhere?"

"I'm not stupid, I can take care of a baby, John."

"You hardly can take of yourself." John pointed out. "But all right. It's not like it's the first time you will be with Hamish. Just...Just call me if anything went wrong, okay?"

Great detective rolled his eyes.

"Fine."

But of course it wasn't fine cause Sherlock was jealous and honest enough not to lie to at least himself about it. It was like with Mary all over again. He had to do something, but was there even anything to do?

And then there was also the case, case in which he kept missing something, something important. What was it?

Sherlock groans and sits abruptly, running his fingers through wild mess of curls on his head. Why is everything so complicated? Why has his heart insists on taking over this very moment? There are _people dying. _

Morning came and went, same as afternoon, both seeing Sherlock lying on the couch in unchanged position, sometimes with his eyes closed, the other times staring at the ceiling. John made him tea, tried to talk to him, and then left him to his thoughts, getting ready for a date.

Sherlock may seem lost in his thoughts, but the truth is he watches every John's movement with attention. John put on his least-favourite button down shirt, and this oatmeal jumper he stopped wearing while ago. Sherlock can't quite crack his motives there, he's seeing a woman after all, woman he hopes he will built future with? Why then is he dressed with such a inattentiveness? It doesn't make any sense, but then again, the good doctor never ceases to surprise him.

He kisses Hamish on the cheek, puts him on the floor near couch with some of his toys near, and pats Sherlock on the arm awkwardly.

"So. I'll be back before midnight. I'm taking Emma to cinema."

"Yes, John, just leave." Sherlock says coldly.

"Are you sure you're okay?" John frowns. "I can stay if..."

"Just shut up and go for your preposterous date." Detective flips over on the couch, so now he's facing the wall and not John.

"Are you sulking?" John's voice is concerned and it's the last thing Sherlock can stand now.

"No! And now just go!"

John hesitates for the minute but then the door opens and closes. He leaves.

Sherlock sits and looks at Hamish, sitting silently on the floor, building a tower with wooden blocks. He can't help and smiles softly, but then remembers John again, and stops. He stands hastily, and goes to make tea, but he's not John, tea doesn't help him calm, and he starts pacing, silently tugging at his hair. His violin lies here, and he considers playing a bit, but leaves it. Then he thinks about experiments, but no, it all seems boring. So does books. There is of course a case, but he is stuck, and can't focus anyway.

Why, why, _why _has John has to took such a great place in both his head and heart? Mycroft always told him not to get attached. And he was, of course, right. Caring was not an advantage, as he kept saying. It only made everything unnecessarily messy and complicated.

He has no idea, how much time passed, occupied by bitter thoughts, pacing back and forth. He comes back to reality only when Hamish tuggs at his trousers leg, making him stop and look down.

Tiny boy looks at him with his huge, blue, John's eyes, and smiles so brightly, Sherlock somehow has to smile back. He lets Hamish lead him, and show him the tower he built – rather complicated and detailed, he really _is _very clever at his age. The boy seems to be sleepy, so Sherlock takes him into his arms with intent to take him to bed, but then his phone rings. It's Lestrade.

"You're needed." Says DI.

"I'm busy." Hamish put his head on his arm and is almost asleep. Sherlock curses in his mind at John and his date with atrocious _Emma._ He should've predicted that something will move forward with the case just when John will leave.

"Then don't be, and come here." Asks Lestrade, his voice on the border of desperate. "Another body was found. It's these studio's owner's sister this time."

"Her sister?" Sherlock is instantly interested. He knew it, it was obvious that it's all about these studio, but it was then different this time, not a client but member of the family?

"Yes. And no tattoos, no cuts."

"I'll be there in a minute." He says.

He'll have to take Hamish with him then. It's not like they didn't do it before, John took his son to the crime scene once or twice when Mrs. Hudson was unavailable, and surely he wouldn't mind if Sherlock did it now?

There is no time to reconsider it, so Sherlock sends a text to John, puts on his coat and hurries to catch a cab.


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10.**

**For my sister, who is better at being Mycroft than Mycroft himself. I love you, baby, and one day you'll find your Lestrade :)**

John isn't enjoying his date. He isn't enjoying it at all.

Well, he basically only went for this date to a) forget about Sherlock, and b) prove to himself that he isn't, in fact, gay. Which, as he now sees, was ridiculous. Cause, seemingly, he failed.

Emma, whom he met in surgery week ago, when she came there with her teenage brother, who broke his arm, was very nice, and pretty, and all, but the problem was, she just _wasn't Sherlock._

She was that petite, charming creature, and couple of years ago he would be more than happy to pursuit relationship with her, but now she has no appeal for him.

So when the text from Sherlock comes, he is more than happy to leave her, saying sorry but not suggesting different time, and catch the first available cab.

Of course it didn't change the fact, that he isn't going to make any move towards his brilliant flatmate, but at least he can _be _with Sherlock, solve the case with Sherlock, and be friends with Sherlock. And not sit in cinema and pretend to be interested in Emma.

Twenty minutes passes and there's no cab. John knows, that he is by no means the person to be described as "good at catching cabs", but it's a bit too long even for him. He got cold, and he is fairly sure that Sherlock is already on the crime scene – and how is he going to manage with solving case while simultaneously taking care of Hamish, John really doesn't want to imagine.

Just when exceptionally expressive profanity slips from his mouth, the long, lean, black car slowly stops by.

At this point John already knows it's Mycroft.

"In the need of a lift?" John is surprised to find out that Sherlock's brother himself is driving. And there's no sign of Anthea.

Nonetheless he gets into the car. He is indeed in rather desperate need of a lift.

"What are you even doing here?" Asks John, not unable to take a hold of his curiosity.

"I assure you, dr. Watson, it's not only you and my dear brother who have private lives, I also am in possession of one." Myroft smiles rather restrained smile.

"So you're...visiting Lestrade?" John frowns. "On the crime scene?"

"I am, as a matter of fact, on my way home, and taking him with me _after _he's done on the crime scene." Mycroft sounds amused. "And I've been given information that you has trouble getting at place."

"Well, thanks." John decides not to ask more questions, since he's grateful, and also since it's Mycroft and he probably isn't going to give him any more information either way. Just like John didn't already know that Mycroft's CCTV cameras are literally _everywhere_.

They drive quietly through the city immersed in darkness.

"So, are congratulations in order?" Mycroft breaks the silence.

"Sorry, what?" John has no idea, what is he about.

"I'm talking about progress in yours and my brother's relationship." Man holding in his hands future of whole England looks in his eyes so innocently, that John wonders for a second that maybe he is the insane one here.

"There is no relationship." Blurts out John. "And, also, it's not your bloody interest."

"Ah. So you're still dancing around each other like a pair of blind idiots then?" Mycroft's eyes don't leave his for even a split second.  
>John furrows his brow.<p>

"What do you mean?"

"That Sherlock, obviously, harbours certain feelings for you. Feelings, that, as I perceive, you fully reciprocate. But none of you is courageous enough to let the other know."

John is startled. He sits, mouth agape, and stares at Sherlock's brother, shocked.

"Now, that you understand that, I highly advise you to go, and do something in that matter." Mycroft smiles, now his smile less reserved, and more sincere.

And John doesn't know if he should be afraid, offended, or thankful, but he really doesn't care. Cause he is positively sure, that he has never been happier in his whole life.


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11.**

The flat where girl was found is tiny, walls painted dark red and full of pictures and tattoo designs pasted haphazardly all over. When Sherlock arrives at place, the forensic's work is done, and only Lestrade – and Julie, who found the body – are there. Studio's owner sits on the couch, hands on her lap, her eyes full of tears. DI positioned himself silently beside her. He looks tired.

Body lies on the floor. Young woman's long, brown hair all over her face, and blood staining her white shirt. She is pale, paler than any body detective has seen before, her skin looking like bleached.

This time it's different, there are no pictures on victims body, and therefore no cuts, her skin undisturbed, immaculate.

When Sherlock enters the room, Lestrade looks at him almost apologetically, offering to hold Hamish.

"I know you're busy taking care of baby, but we're rather desperate here." DI admits. "This whole case takes too long, I'm hopeless."

Genius detective dissmises him with a wave of his hand.

"John is on his way." He says, eyes already fixed on the body.

He comes closer, taking the whole scene in.

But he can't focus. He sees all these little details no one else can see, but somehow finds himself unable to draw any logical conclusions.

He crouches near the body and carefully takes the girl's tiny, white hand in his own, amost two times bigger. She has subtle, delicate tattoo on her wrist, pastel pink rose made with swirls and curls of ink lines. But it's not what draws his attention. Her nails are ruined, tips of her fingers red with blood and skin there torn.

"She fought back." He says, turning his head to look at Lestrade. "And she failed. The attacker was stronger, he hit her and shot when she was falling back. It's a precise shot. Military or hobbistic, but almost infallible. She..."

Then it starts. Vague, steady, deep voice in his head, _John's _voice, he realizes, murmuring, making him unable to think, to concentrate.

_Do you mean, like me? _Voice asks innocently. _You're so infatuated by me you can't think, see? There's no way out. You have to do something. Say something. You're going crazy, aren't you?_

Sherlock knows, he is sure, John would never, ever talk to him like that, but it doesn't help. He keeps hearing this voice.

He shakes his head violently, then realizes both Lestrade and Julie are looking at him suspiciously.

"Are you all right?" DI asks. He put Hamish on the couch where boy sits silently, looking at them with his clever, huge eyes.

"Yes." It sounds hoarse, he clears his throat and tries again. "Fine. Just give me a minute. I need to..."

He shows the door mutely, and then leaves. He really, deeply hopes Lestrade will think he went out just to smoke a cigarette.

He hates himself for such a displayal of weakness.

Sherlock leaves the building and stands by the door, leaning over the wall and searching his pockets for a lightener, when the black, lean, _Mycroft's _car drives silently and stops in front of him.

He hasn't even got the time to wonder – or get annoyed – what is his brother doing here, when car's door open and, to his surprise, John gets off from the passenger side.

Detective finds himself in peculiar state, somewhere between blushing and deep wanting to stay calm, so he fixes his eyes on the pavement, not sure what to do. All this emotions overwhelm him and he feels like a child in the dark, nonplussed and lost.

Mycroft leaves the car and, his inseparable umbrella still in hand, heads to the building's main door. He steps by, smiles at his brother – who is even more confused now, seeing him with this ludicrous smile plastered to face much more used to carry discontent – and _winks, yes, winks_ at John.

Sherlock deliberates for a second if he possibly could be dreaming.

"So, er, why aren't you inside?" John smiles at him, his smile bright and carrying something brilliant detective is not sure how to name.

"I found myself in necessity of some fresh air." He lies, eyes still concentrated on the ground, avoiding John's sight. "Hamish is with Lestrade, I hope you don't mind..."

He stops, unable to finish the sentence.

Something makes him look up and he meets John's eyes, concerned and full of what seem like a worry, worry about him and something in as well his heart as his mind just snaps and he somehow knows, this very minute, that he can't take it anymore, not this way, not now, not ever.

Not with air filled with hope and longing; and he realizes he won't stand it, can't stand watching as John, _his _John leaves with yet another woman, unaware of all feelings Sherlock has for him. It's like a sudden epiphany, flash of white light behind his eyes almost palpable, and he doesn't even realize he reaches out for John's hand, not before their fingers lace and they're standing, just standing there holding hands and smiling like maniacs.

And then John says "I was such an idiot, should've done this long ago" and suddenly they're kissing and it's brilliant, it's perfect, it's like there were just two of them against the whole world – and maybe there is.

John has his hand burried in Sherlock's curls and Sherlock has his head bowed slightly, and there's still the height difference but who cares, it feels like they were made for each other, it jusr took them too much time to find each other.

When they need to stop for air John looks in his eyes and smiles so widely, and then they burst into fit of giggles.

And it's fine, actually it's better than fine, cause everything is finally on place.


	12. Chapter 12

**This is a short one, cause I'm really ill, but I didn't wanted left you all waiting.**

**Sorry for all the mistakes, I have a really high fever :(**

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER 12.<strong>

They kiss and kiss, and can't stop, like it's not the first but last time, like they have to make up for all these moments in past, when they almost did it but something stopped them. Time passes but they don't feel it, lost in each other, their kisses becoming more and more passionate. John has Sherlock pinned to the wall, with his wrists above his head and he realizes he wanted to do it for such a long time, that now when it's happening, everything feels like a dream.

Finally, he breaks, leaving one, gentle kiss on Sherlock's mouth.

"I think we probably should go before they start to suspect something." He says, blushing slightly. Sherlock looks at him and his gaze leaves good doctor feeling too hot in his skin, his brilliant detective looking like he wanted to devour him. He takes his hand and squeezes it gently. "Case?" He looks at the door pointedly.

"Solved." Detective says, his voice a bit hoarse.

"Let's go and tell Lestrade then?" John suggests.

"Oh. Right. Okay." Sherlock looks a bit lost and at the same time so happy and _relieved _that John can't stop himself and kisses him one more time, before taking his hand and leading him upstairs.

He realizes, that he doesn't care everyone will know. Mycroft knows anyway and people talk about them all the time. And he has no intention hiding his happiness.

They go upstairs, holding hands all the time, only to find Mycroft holding Hamish in his arms – sight so peculiar they both just stop and stare for a moment – and talking quietly with Lestrade.

Julie sits in the same position as before, her eyes closed though.

"Finally." Says DI, and his voice is still tired, but he smiles and John is aware, that their looks tell everything, hair dishevelled and lips swollen. "Sherlock, any ideas who did it?"

"Actually, everything is relatively obvious." Sherlock is himself again, and John can't help it and smiles. Actually it seems like he unconsciously does it all the time, unable to stop. "I knew it from the start that there was something wrong with this tattoo studio, but I couldn't grasp it at the time. It was Julie all along. And oh, she is clever. But, she also made one tremendous mistake, being too self-confident and sure no one would notice. Julie's sister was the artist in her studio, and has lots of regulars who she was friends with. She also has an affair with Julie's boyfriend. So Mrs. Cook, in order to know everything and prepare her revenge, blackmailed all her sister's regulars. But then she had to get rid of them. So she killed them. She is excellent shot, been in military years ago before settling down and opening tattoo studio. " John looks at his detective, who walks slowly through tiny room, his eyes never leaving Julie Cook's face. She looks back at him, her eyes wide and shocked, all colours leaving her face. "When you knew everything about your sister's affair, you decided to kill her too, didn't you? And you enjoyed it. You came here, and started yelling at her, then you pulled out the gun. She tried to fight, what left her fingers scratched and her nails broken. And so does yours – which you didn't notice, and which gave you away." Sherlock is by her side instantly, catching her wrist and showing it to Lestrade. Indeed, Julie's nails are broken and covered in dried blood.

"I asked her about it and she said she tried to resuscitate her sister." DI frowns.

"I told you she was clever. But looking at her hands made me realize what happened." Sherlock's eyes are bright when he looks at John and John says "amazing", but what he really wants to say is "I love you".

Then he realizes something.

"If it's all about her boyfriend's affair then why did she dated me?" He frowns, and then realizes he shouldn't asked it, because Sherlock looks hurt for a split second, and no matter he hides it, John still knows.

"She spot great opportunity to strengthen her alibi there." Detective says, eyes fixed on Julie again. "But after she reassured us all that she is indeed single and dating, she needed you no more."

"Oh." It seems that's all John can say.

"And that's all." Sherlock comes to Mycroft and takes Hamish from him, who is fast asleep at this point. "Can we go home now?"

John realizes he is impatient too, his eagerness eased while listening to Sherlock's deductions now burning bright once again.

He smiles apologetically, and then they leave, leaving Lestrade to deal with murderer, and leaving the whole world to go its way, because now there are just the two of them and nothing else matters.


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER 13.**

**So, this is my first attempt in writing porn. Which is what I always wanted to do, by the way, but was always too scared to even start. But now I gained some courage, so here we are :)**

**And please forgive me all mistakes?**

**It was somehow the hardest chapter to write yet, but let me just say I enjoyed it so much! Yay, I did it! :D**

They take cab home, this time without any obstacles, and drive in comfortable silence. Hamish is sound asleep in John's arms and John has his fingers laced with Sherlock's and he slowly begins to understand that what he feels now is in every possible way unique. Yes, he loved Mary, but it was that easy kind of love that never leaves you wondering or aching. They fitted together perfectly and she was this kind of woman he always imagined himself making family with. It was the easiest choice. Now, with Sherlock it is different, this man takes all available place in John's heart and love to him leaves John almost hurting.. It's not simple kind of love, but all the same much greater, much more complicated. He gets that feeling he probably will never fully understand this brilliant man he choose to build his life with, but it's okay, he realizes, it's all okay, cause he would never exchange it for anything else.

He turns his head and places a silent kiss on Sherlock's cheek. Detective looks at him surprised, but then he smiles, that brilliant, saved only for John kind of smile, and good doctor's heart melts with all these feelings.

When they finally arrive to Baker Street it starts snowing, huge white snowflakes falling slowly from black, night sky.

In the same, shared silence they climb the stairs to their flat, careful not to wake Mrs. Hudson up, and then John goes to his bedroom to put Hamish to bed. Looking at his son, peacefully sleeping in his cot, his golden hair slightly tousled, his breath even and fair eyelashes trembling lightly, John starts to wonder, what now.

So Sherlock reciprocates his feelings, indeed very much so. And it seemed he is willing to pursue a relationship with John.

But is he also up to going to bed with him?

And if even he is, then it's not like John was in bed with any other man before. He feels like a wave of panic washes through him. He inhales slowly, then realizes that if he is scared then Sherlock must be terrified, after all John is probably much more experienced when it comes to sex than he is.

Breathing slowly, he tries to calm himself, and decides that if it's going to work, he must be the one to stay cool. And he really, really, _really _wants it to work.

He straightens and goes downstairs not leaving himself enough time for second thoughts.

In the main room Sherlock leans by the door-frame, his expression uncertain and insecure, and it makes John's heart ache, so he goes straight to him and kisses him lightly on the mouth.

He licks at detective's upper lip and, when his mouth opens hesitantly, teases his tongue gently, eliciting quiet moan from him. It encourages him, so he slowly-oh-so-slowly roams his hands over Sherlock's chest, and slides coat off his arms.

He breaks the kiss, and delicately moves his thumb over this infuriating man's lips, taking his hand simultaneously. There's whole lot of insecurity in Sherlock's eyes, as he looks at the floor and mumbles "John, I think that you should be aware that..." and breaks, apparently not knowing how to put it into words. But John knows him so well, so he just whispers "I know, it's all right, love. We don't have to do anything."

But then Sherlock kisses him again, and, never letting go of his hand, leads him to his bedroom, and closes the door behind them.

They kiss, more and more passionately, hands tangled in clothes, then John starts undressing Sherlock slowly, struggling over too many buttons in his shirt, he even manages to tear some of them off. Belt buckle is somehow a problem to undo with hands trembling slightly, but then it lets go, and not long after they are both naked.

Never breaking the kiss John eases his lover-to-be on the bed, and immediately joins him there, embracing him, unable to stop himself, wanting to do it for such a long time.

At this point John is no longer afraid, no longer hesitant. He is with the man he loves more than anything in the world and is going to take a full advantage of it.

He ducks his head and leaves the trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses on Sherlock's neck, going lower and lower until he kisses his collarbones.

They're both rock-hard at this point. John stops kissing Sherlock for a moment, just to take a look at him, all flushed, hair a mess and his beautiful, storm-like eyes wide and full of lust, irises almost whole consumed by black pupils. He is breathing heavily, holding John so tight doctor is sure it will leave marks.

"John, please." He says, his voice almost pleading, and who is John to say no?

There is lube on the bedside table and in any other circumstances John would be all happy to mock Sherlock a little about it, but now he has other things in mind.

He sits, helping detective gently to prop himself up on the pillows, legs spread wide, and huge eyes watching Johns every movement, and starts to work him open. It doesn't take long before he has all three fingers buried deep inside him and Sherlock is writhing beneath him.

John lines himself up and pushes slowly, watching changing expressions on his lover's face. He has one of Sherlock's legs thrown over his good arm and he bends over and kisses him clumsily, and starts moving slowly and it's brilliant, it's wonderful and why exactly was he so scared about it?

His movements grow more erratic with time, and he wraps his fingers over Sherlock's erection and it's not long and younger man comes shouting his name. And it's a perfect sight, and John struggles to keep his eyes open and watch because Sherlock's face is painfully beautiful at this very second. It's all what it takes to bring John over the edge and he closes his eyes, unable to hold on.

They lie in silence for a couple of minutes, but then Sherlock moves and wraps himself over John, and John is amazed, cause he would never suspect Sherlock Holmes to be the one to cuddle.

"It was..." John tries to catch his breath.

"Perfect." Ends Sherlock for him, and he is right. It was absolutely perfect.

"I love you." John doesn't even realize when words slip from his mouth. But he's surprisingly okay with that, his statement being nothing but truth.

Sherlock hums happily and kisses him on the scar on his arm and it's so intimate John fears for a minute he will actually cry.

"It doesn't hurt to say it back, you know." He teases instead, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

And it's only when they're almost falling asleep, when he hears it.

"I love you too."


	14. Chapter 14

**I still have a quite high fever, but the very act of thinking about my boys makes me better, so here you are :)**

**This chapter is pure fluff – so enjoy! :)**

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER 14.<strong>

John wakes up after several hours and for first few seconds is a bit lost, not understanding where he is. He feels warm and sleepy; he stretches and accidentally hits Sherlock, who is fast asleep by his side, curled into an adorable ball with mess of curly hair. John's heart melts at the sight, and detective murmurs something and throws his arm around John's chest.

Good doctor wonders for a while if he should check on Hamish, but his son stopped waking up in the middle of the night a while ago, so he decides to stay in bed. He wraps his arms around his lover and falls asleep right away.

It's couple of minutes after 6am when doors open and John is abruptly snatched from his sleep by Hamish jumping into Sherlock's – _theirs –_ bed and wrapping his tiny arms around him.

John is not sure if he should be irritated, moved by cuteness of whole scene, or worried – because _how exactly_ Hamish managed to go down the stairs all by himself? - so he just sighs and gets up, Hamish in his arms, since seemingly sleeping is over. He takes care not to wake Sherlock up, after all detective rarely sleeps, and he looks so peaceful in his sleep.

After an hour, when Johns ends eating breakfast and starts getting ready for surgery, detective emerges from his room, dressed in his blue bathrobe and apparently still half asleep. He drops on the chair next to John and, with his eyes closed proceeds to drink tea John puts in front of him. It's such an adorable view John finds himself unable not to smile, and places a kiss on Sherlock's mouth. Detective opens his eyes and smiles lopsided smile. They start kissing, slow, intimate kisses. It's quite uncomfortable to kiss over the table, so John switches position and sits on Sherlock's lap – and then doors open and Mrs. Hudson comes in. She stops abruptly, then blushes and then smiles widely, her eyes sparkling.

"Oh boys, I'm so happy for you!" She says cheerily. "I knew it, I just knew it!"

John finds himself quite startled and not sure what to say, but then Mrs. Hudson winks at them and takes Hamish from high-chair he's in.

"I will take care of him, don't worry." She smiles, and leaves.

Sherlock and John exchange glances, and then burst into laughter simultaneously.

"We really should thank her properly though." Says John, but then Sherlock kisses him again and he forgets about everything or a while.

It's only when he remembers he was supposed to go to the surgery when he breaks the kiss reluctantly.

"Shit, I really need to go." He frowns. "I'm really late."

"No you're not." Sherlock holds him tightly within his embrace. "Do you want to be?" He smiles wicked smile at him.

"Stop it, you evil creature." John does quick calculations in his head. He could call the surgery and take the the day off. And stay with Sherlock whole day. What they had was so fresh and all he really wanted was to stay there, in his detective's arms and just cherish the moment.

Sherlock seems to read his mind, as he brushes his lips over John's ear and whispers in his low voice "Call Sarah. Tell her new case came into view. She'll understand, she always does. Then we can stay in bed entire day."

John finds himself unable to resist, as he kisses Sherlock again, leisurely and sensuously. And then she does just as he was said.

And of course Sarah tells him not to worry, and he feels guilty for like a bat of an eye, but then Sherlock takes his hand and leads him back to theirs bedroom and he forgets about whole world.


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER 15.**

**I somehow find it really hard to write Mummy Holmes in character... So all errors are completely and only my own fault, and please forgive me?**

**Also, just a friendly reminder here, that in my fic HLV never happened.**

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><p>Days come and go, silent witnesses to their shared happiness. Two weeks pass in the blink of an eye, with new case to solve, with Hamish to take care of and with all this excitement distinctive to first days of blooming relationship; and suddenly it's Christmas, with snow falling slowly from the white sky.<p>

There's christmas tree taking almost whole space of their main room now, shining and sparkling, and lights all over fireplace; and John looks at them, smiling, as he sits in his chair and drinks his morning tea. Sherlock is all lost in his new experiment, kitchen table terrible mess and smell of burning heavy in the air although open window, and John is actually pretty cold now – it proceeds for almost two hours – but, since he starts to feel christmas spirit and all, he decides not to say anything. Hamish is sitting on the floor, under the christmas tree, fascinated by bubbles, looking at his deformed reflection in them, and giggling. John realizes all of sudden that seemingly his son inherited his ridiculous giggle, and the very thought makes him laugh silently. He's so happy.

They sit in accompanied silence, when suddenly there's a sharp knock to the door and they open with great force, and Sherlock's mother comes in. John, of course, remembers her, but was never actually introduced so he finds whole situation rather awkward, and rises hastily from his chair. At he same time Sherlock leaves his experiment and stands rather abruptly, frowning.

"What are you doing here?" He asks bluntly.

His mother rushes to him, and kisses him on the cheek, paying no attention to her son horrified expression.

"Mycroft told us happy news, so, obvioulsy, I had to come and visit you!" She exclaimes. "Also, it's Christmas." She smiles, and in her smile John suddenly sees the echo of her son's lopsided smile.

Sherlock rolls his eyes and sighs like he was deeply suffering, but comes to John and takes his hand, lacing their fingers.

"Mummy, this is John Watson. And his son, Hamish."

"Er, hello." John tries really hard not to sound awkward, but really, the whole situation is raher bizzare, so he just smiles politely. He knows that Sherlock is probably ten times more horrified than he is and feel sudden pang of compassion.

"I knew it, I just knew it, that one day you'll finally settle down with someone!" Says Mummy Holmes – and well, John finds it rather ridiculous to refer to Sherlock's mother like this, but since both him and Mycroft do so, he jus gives up. "It's so nice to meet you, John!"

"Nice to meet you too." John smiles. "I'm happy to be finally introduced to you properly."

"Ah, and I'm so happy that you put up with my insufferable son." She smiles too, and John realizes that probably it won't be that hard to get along with his – hopefully - future mother-in-law.

"Everyone's happy, great" Sherlock rolls his eyes again. "So now, Mummy, exactly how long are you planning to stay?"

"Don't be rude, honey." Mummy sits on the couch. Hamish, courious little one as he is, stands and comes to her, brilliant smile on his lips. She responds with the same smile, and starts talking to him, and she reminds Sherlock so much in it, treating Hamish as an adult. He seems to immediatelly love her. "I just popped up to check on you, I won't stay long. I'm just so glad you have a family now! John, your son is so adorable."

They chat for a moment, Sherlock curled in a ball in his chair, trying to ignore his mother, but he fails and slowly starts participating in the conversation. Minutes pass by, and John is almost relaxed when suddenly Mummy smiles to him cutely and asks: "So when exactly are you getting married?" and John almost chokes on his tea. He waits for Sherlock to make a sarcastic remarks, but great detective just sits in his chair, eyes fixed on the floor, and he says nothing. He's cheeks are slightly blushed and John has no idea, why he reacts like that.

Mummy realizes something's wrong, and she apologises quickly, but atmosphere seems to be ruined.

"Oh, I see, you haven't discussed it yet, I'm sorry." She says, but John is fairly sure she's not sorry at all, judging from her smile. "Anyway, I will be going now, my husband is waiting for me."

They say goodbye, mood all awkward again, and she leaves, kissing Hamish on the cheek.

They sit in silence and John thinks frantically what to say. Finally, he just decides to settle on "Is everything okay?" which, he realizes, sounds quite pathetic.

"Of course." Mumbles Sherlock, eyes still held firmly on the floor.

"Hey." John stands up, comes over Sherlock's chair and kneels on the floor, taking detective's hand. "What is it all about?"

"Nothing." He says quietly.

"Listen, I know it's something about mentioning marriage what bothers you so much, but you have to help me here. Please, tell me." He bows his head and kisses Sherlock's wrist.

"Well, you've been married to Mary." Stats detective rather sourly, his head turned away.

"Yes." Admits John. "Yes, I was. But..."

"And you loved her." Interrupts Sherlock.

"Yes, I loved her." John considers how to play the situation. He should've realized that Sherlock was jealous of Mary, of course he was. But the thing was, Mary was dead, and John loved Sherlock with completely different kind of love than her. He wasn't sure, though, how to explain it to his brilliant, infuriating lover. "But I love you much more, you know. It's entirely different with you. With Mary, yes, it was simple, and it was really good, but with you...It's like totally different universe."

Sherlock finally looks him in the eyes, and John is almost shocked by amount of insecurity he sees there.

He slowly realizes it's only one thing he can do, and _why exactly didn't he think of it earlier_? It's all he really want, and he becomes aware of the fact hat he should've done it days ago.

"And you know what, since I'm already on my knees here..." He takes deep breath. "Sherlock Holmes, will you marry me?"

Sherlock says nothing, but slides to his knees next to John, wraps his arm around him and kiss him – and John is pretty sure, that's a very definite _yes_.


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER 16.**

**Here's jour daily dose of porn – cause what wedding would it be without wedding night? :)**

**(I still have high fever so blame all mistakes on it, please,)**

**Also – hi Dad! I hope you like it!**

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><p>It's dark and it's raining slightly, spring at it's first days, as Sherlock and John come home. They close the door, hangs their coats and look at each other, smiling softly. John looks at his detective, taking in his shiny eyes, slightly blushed cheeks and perfect smile at his heart-shaped lips. He walks to him slowly, and kisses him, pouring all his love to this kiss. He tangles his one hand in soft locks on the nape od Sherlock's neck, slowly unbuttoning his jacket and sliding it from his arms. Younger man responds in a kind, hands sliding over John's chest and embracing him.<p>

They kiss in perfect silence, disturbed only by quiet whisper of falling rain. Their tongues tangle, just as their arms in soundless demand to get closer.

John pulls out slightly, and laces their fingers, touching matching rings, simple, golden bands, on their fingers.

"You're my husband." He says like he couldn't believe it, rolling the word on his tongue.

"And you are mine." Whispers Sherlock, and kisses him again.

They go to the bedroom, slowly, never letting go of each other's hand and stealing kisses on their way. John closes the door behind them, and, all of sudden, pins Sherlock to them, pinning his wrists above his head and smiling mischievous smile. His husband looks at him with his perfect eyes, today more blue than ever with huge pupils, dilated by lust.

John kisses him, slow, sensual kiss, parting his legs with his knee - yes, he is short, but he'd be damned if it go into his way now. He unbuttons Sherlock's shirt still holding detective's arms firmly over his head, and fastens his mouth over his nipple. Sherlock arches under his manipulations, moaning gently.

John kisses him again, hard this time, swallowing his groans, and lets go of his arms, only to use his both hands to unfasten his belt and shove his trousers down his legs. He kneels between his newly married husband's legs and takes his cock into his mouth, humming slightly as Sherlock's knees almost give up. He starts bobbing his head, encouraged by Sherlock's hand, now tangled tightly into his hair. John can't help himself and looks up, meeting his husband's eyes, locked firmly with his, and the very sight makes him almost dizzy. It doesn't takes long and Sherlock's eyes closes, he arches his neck and comes shouting John's name.

John wraps his arms around him as detective slides heavily to the floor, and they kiss, messy, perfect kisses, as Sherlock wraps his long, skilled fingers around John's shaft and slowly strokes him into complection.

They lay heavily over the door, limbs tangled, breathing heavily and exchanging languid kisses, and they are both quite sure they must be the happiest people on the whole world.

Later, when they settle in bed, curled over each other, John stroking genly Sherlock's curls, good doctor whispers quietly "Thank you."

"For what?" Murmurs detective, already half asleep. "If you mean for sex..."

"Yeah, that too." John laughs under his breath. "But I meant for loving me. I'm honoured, you know."

They lie in silence, time passes, and John is almost alseep, when he hears it.

"Thank you too." Says Sherlock in almost silent whisper. "I have every intention for loving you till the very end."

**THE END**

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><p><strong>So this is the end of "One More Miracle". It was so much fun to me and I am really over the moon for all kudos and comments, thank you so much! 3<strong>

**But, since I already have three ideas for new fics – and I will stick to daily updates cause I have looooots of free time, yay! – if you liked it, you should totally follow my account for more :D**


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